Can I Fly Too?

November 26, 2017

You are a witch.
You taught me
To hear in the slurping of mud
The cry of the Ban Shee
To see in the life cycle of the caterpillar
The struggle of the soul
Towards immortality.
Take me.
You alone could turn the weight of years
Into release, ecstasy.

Philip Hobsbaum

To those who doubt

November 26, 2017

You think witchcraft doesn’t work? Well, fine. Good for you. Let me practice it in peace, is all I ask. It makes me feel good to cast a spell, to focus my energy, and produce a definite action. A spell has an end and I can tell myself: ‘There, it’s done!’

While you hide yourself away behind your wall of “received wisdom”, what you should remember is we are all the Universe – but trying to be individuals!

In January of this year, scientists created metallic hydrogen for the first time in the world. This was previously believed to be impossible. For the first time hydrogen exists in a metallic state on our Earth. In this metallic state it can act as a genuine superconductor and could revolutionize everything from energy storage to rocketry…The “NOT POSSIBLE” of ‘received wisdom’ was wrong. It can be done. It is possible.

So go in peace with your doubts and leave me to get on with my craft.

Risada Do Futuro

In ritualising anything, we simply do not stop when its physical limits are reached, but plod steadily past them bringing NOTHING and SOMETHING closer together with every step. It is a matter of application and training which can be done by anyone with the necessary dedication and ability to continue working past points where less devoted individuals lose interest and give up the effort. The only secret is “stickability” and refusal to be discouraged by seeming failures.

William G. Gray (The Old Sod)
Magical Ritual Methods

ancient leather-bound tomes

October 29, 2017

A young fool like Freirs would probably refuse to believe it. Like the rest of his doomed kind, he’d probably expect such lore to be found only in ancient leather-bound tomes with gothic lettering and portentously sinister titles. He’d search for it in mysterious old trunks and private vaults, in the “restricted” sections of libraries, in intricately carved wood chests with secret compartments.

But there are no real secrets, the Old One knows. Secrets are ultimately too hard to conceal. The keys to the rites that will transform the world are neither hidden nor rare nor expensive. They are available to anyone. You can find them on the paperback racks or in any second-hand bookshop.

T.E.D. Klein
The Ceremonies

10 th September

Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place – Yes Lewis Carroll knew. But did he understand?

#

Still, silent night. Didn’t even hear the owls out hunting. They killed in blood-red silence, or took a night off and went hungry. Or perhaps they went elsewhere to rend and tear, leaving us to enjoy our exhausted peace?

#

I sit locked out,
my nose pressed against glass
only I know about.

You sense my distance
but cannot understand
the why of it.

The space I cannot cross.

I watch you dance
with strange disjointed steps
to music I cannot hear.

A ritual to which I can never belong.

You laugh to see me sit alone
as if I made a foolish choice
I am too proud to own.

But I cannot join
this thing that makes no sense
this thing that for me is so unreal.

I must dance to a lonelier beat.

15th August

So he enters her bedroom through that impossible two way mirror. She’s not there but he finds a mannequin that looks like her and dresses it in a flowing white bridal gown. He utters the words that make them husband and wife, and consummates their union on her untidy bed. Afterwards he takes her to the cemetery on the edge of the moor. It is the happiest day of his life.

‘I think of you,’ he says, ‘at midnight each and every night.’

He takes her in his arms and they begin to dance to the music playing inside his head. He is overcome with passion, and he has her there, bending her over a tombstone and thrusting into her.

She is like a woman from another time. She awakens so many different emotions in him. She has the soft smell of a child about her, and he whispers words of love into her tangled hair as he cums up her.

He loves her, every atom, every particle. Squeezing her breasts through her bridal gown and gently kissing the back of her neck. But she doesn’t respond. She lays quite silent and still over the tombstone, like a woman in some other person’s dream –

Then he wakes.

#

The creative artist is much better equipped to exploit the obscure sources of myth, magic and ritual surrounding us than any ‘academic’ writing down pure ‘facts’. Contact with the sacred in nature may effect a transformation in our ways of ‘seeing’. The visible and the invisible and the veil between become momentarily transparent to assist in our enlightenment. It is possible for the creative artist to live in both worlds at once. To live inside and outside of time. The trackless, sheep-wandered moorland beyond my window suggests power, joy, growth – and the possibility of transformation. Here, it is easy to believe, is Pan’s playground, his kingdom, and that he waits, a bodiless shadow, to brutally ravish some innocent female out walking his domain without due care.

One should always propitiate the Gods with an appropriate sacrifice.

23rd July

Living here with so many ghosts I feel like a caretaker of the restless dead – a protector of spirits who haunt my life – so that I’ve become my own haunted house, attempting communication with partially glimpsed movements at the edge of perception, or the sound of a creaking stair, or a noise in the attic which might only be the patter of falling rain…My ghosts can be cranky on occasion: they can whisper words, the meaning of which I’m unable to determine.

It’s been a long time since anyone treated them well –

#

So the Saturday evening play-party. With our friends from the local munch, people possessing the emotional bandwidth to comply with our safety standards, while sharing similar aesthetic tastes to ourselves.

Like a small film club, are we, eagerly awaiting the main attraction: crisps, freshly roasted nuts and popcorn are liberally distributed to ‘the audience’ in small china bowls. Missy A has been naughty and is to be disciplined while we watch. Furniture has been moved to accommodate this tableaux.

Seeing Missy A bent over a chair with her skirt hitched up is breathtaking. Hearing a hand slap against her buttocks, is so very arousing – how could it be otherwise? Savouring the slight trembling of flesh with each fresh impact. Her yelps of discomfort –

Then E rising to join T who is tiring. E has a riding crop. She takes T’s place. Her skin-head hair cut is intimidating. She uses the crop with consummate skill –

Yelps become cries. Missy’s poor glowing bum is criss-crossed with red stripes –

Missy’s now estranged husband used to take her to play-parties in the boot of their car. Almost nude, gagged and handcuffed, even in winter, she would endure this humiliation without complaint. His treatment of her became harsher and harsher, until she finally left him eighteen months ago.

It should serve as a lesson to us all, how quickly such consensual abuse can become pure abuse –

I’m reminded of Jean-Paul Sartre and his theory of emotions as ‘magic’. Because Missy has simply exchanged one sadist for another. The new man in her life allows his fantasies free rein. She is, it seems, one of life’s natural victims –

E’s skill with that crop is superlative. Her strokes are hard enough to mark Missy’s naked bum but not to break the skin. I can’t take my eyes from Missy, her tear-filled eyes, parted lips, writhing as if in the grip of some invisible power. Sex is inherently ritualistic, a symbolic act whose meanings extend beyond itself. And there can be no doubt that Missy’s submission is sexual, that she takes pleasure from E’s practiced flogging of her backside. And every face in ‘the audience’ is slightly flushed with sexual excitement as they look on. And my own arousal is equally obvious –

Finally, aftercare. Caresses, kisses, gentle stroking. A smile on Missy’s tear-stained face. She experienced some sort of climax near the end of her ‘punishment’, and all the tension is now drained from her.

I finish my popcorn (which incidentally is homemade) as E takes Missy upstairs to the bathroom to fix her make-up.

‘I hope they don’t wake the ghosts,’ I say to no one in particular.

And no one, as expected, bothers to reply.

#

Hamlet experienced an encounter with a ghost and it ended in massacre. Macbeth was confronted by Banquo’s ghost during a great banquet, and lost his peace of mind forever. It’s more than likely that Shakespeare’s ghosts are simply psychological manifestations of guilt – imagined apparitions, in other words.

But what of my ghosts?

Trish, for example?

She used to love me reading out loud to her. At bedtime I always had to read to her or she couldn’t sleep. On occasion she would perform an act of fellation upon me as I read –

She once described herself to me as ‘Terribly thin’. And her body, I must admit, was like a sabre slash in silk. As flat chested as a boy, was she. ‘You’re fine,’ I’d tell her. ‘I love you as you are.’ And then laid her back and performed cunnilingus on her for almost an hour –

I read her ‘The Story of O’ and we both got turned on by it. It was Christmas Eve I remember, and Trish guided me between her buttocks. I gently sodomized her for the first time while she masturbated herself.

We talked a lot about art, writing, music and cinema. One time I told her about André Gide, his enormous influence on the young, which sprang from his teaching that one’s only duty is to oneself, that one should never be ‘encumbered’, either by material possessions, memories or other people –

‘Often the best in us springs from the worst in us.’

And so I read ‘Isabelle’ to Trish, and we both visited le chateau de la Quartfourche with Gerard Lacase, and accompanied him on his quest for Isabelle in the grip of ‘amorous curiosity’.

Books, reading, more reading and fucking. ‘Why don’t you read me something you’ve written?’ she asked. It was a bridge too far for me. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Never that. It’s all too awful.’ But she insisted, so finally I recited some of the poems in ‘Summer Births’ from memory. And while the words spilled gently from my mouth like little lost souls, Trish fondled me erect and masturbated me –

Trish had always had a thing about India. For her it seemed a magical, mysterious, exotic place. One day she announced she was finally going to go there. She’d saved the money. She was going for six months – longer if she could!

And so she drifted from my life almost as casually as she’d drifted into it. And now she keeps company with the crowd of ghosts occupying this place; a spectre who loves to hear me read out loud late at night –

Language used in spells is meant to express an emotional intent. It does not matter what words are actually used, provided that they express a high emotional level and a carefully defined intent. Do not be surprised if your Guide gets involved, showing or telling you a better way to do something. Some groups favour the use of old languages and archaic terminology. When they understand the emotion behind the words, that will work well for them, for they have put a great deal of effort into research and understanding of the words. But when participants just parrot incomprehensible phrases or read from a script to live out some fantasy, the spell fails.

When Solomon called down power, he used Hebrew names that we now regard as archaic; when he wrote on his pentacles, he used Hebrew letters. Solomon was a Hebrew. When Hebrew was replaced by Latin as the language of scholars, Solomon’s words were translated into Latin because that’s what learned people could read and write. The translation made Solomon’s work effective for those who could read and understand Latin. Today we use plain English if that is our native language.

We do not yet understand well the mechanics of communication, but records show many examples of (for instance) people under hypnosis being controlled by instructions in languages they had no knowledge of. In other words, somehow the mind translates messages into actions even though the words “ought” to be meaningless. In the same way, animals will respond to commands in many different languages even when the words sound different.

We believe this happens because commands, especially psychic commands, are expressed not in actual words, but in emotionally coded signals that trigger reactions in the deepest recesses of our minds. Thus, in doing magical work, you must transmit the emotionally coded signal, not some words that have little or no meaning in your reality. If you transmit gibberish, gibberish is what the receiver gets. When a person who speaks only English attempts to transmit thoughts in ancient Hebrew, he lowers his chances of establishing contact for two reasons:

1. He doesn’t key his mind correctly.
2. The receiver is unable to understand the transmission.

Contrast that with the example above where the words spoken to someone under hypnosis were in a language strange to that person, but where the thought transmitted was in English – the individual’s native language. It is also obvious that the repetition of a meaningless magical name is useless:

Stand. Face east In a loud voice repeat sixteen times, an ancient Hebrew word.

Instructions like this are common in magical texts. The pronunciation of the word is lost; the nearest we can come is “JHVH” or, in chanting, “Elelu.” Similarly you might find instructions like,

Kneel in a perfect circle. With the blade of your athome between your teeth, your wand in your right hand, and your white-handled sword in the left, think: “Tetragrammaton.”

Tetragrammaton literally means four-letter word. In occult circles it is taken to cover all the spellings of the names of God. Unfortunately, in the world at large a four-letter word has a somewhat different connotation. Witches prefer to think of the word God or Goddess, believing this thought results in better two-way understanding. It is easy to change the language of an incantation to your local language, though you need to retain the significance and the emotion of the original words.

Ancient ways are often useful guides, but in psychic work it has been our experience that we don’t know enough about them to make them fully effective.

Gavin & Yvonne Frost
The Witch’s Magical Handbook

Magic & Belief

June 9, 2017

It may be said that ritual is the very heart of magick. For it is through ritual that we achieve our magical results. Ritual is a magical procedure or ceremony we perform in order to change the environment. Usually we think of ritual as bearing on active magick, although certainly, it can also affect passive magick. Most often the change achieved is subjective and in the physical world. Outsiders may put them down to coincidence, but the effects are very real. Magical goals for a ritual should not be taken lightly. The successful practice of magick depends upon strong belief. The simplest ritual of them all must be belief itself. If you can believe in your desired results strongly enough, that act is a magical ritual which will achieve your results. Even a very complex ritual is no more effective than strong belief. There are aids to concentration which may help. Thus in “creative visualization”, imagination and controlled breathing are brought into play.

K Amber
The Basics of Magick

30 th April

Busy, busy day. People arriving last night, more this morning. Later there will be queues for the shower. Chaos rules, as always. Then a small convoy of cars to Plymouth where our feast will commence.

Unfortunately the weather forecast is not good for today: rain may be coming in off the coast; so a wet, weary Beltane, perhaps?

After an afternoon of eating and drinking we will all travel to a secret location. There wood has already been prepared for our bonfire, the sawn logs covered to keep them dry. Even in the rain we will have a Beltane bonfire – come what may, we will leap the flames. And heavily cosmetisised women with flowers in their hair will dance round the Maypole in delicious abandonment.

One of my favorite times of year.